Campfire Stories
by MysticJadeShoe
Summary: It all started when Italy decided to drag Romano, Spain, and Germany out camping. And as the crackling fire dies, he decides to start telling stories-very interesting ones. Will Romano stop blushing, and will Germany ever get what he's trying to say?


**I've been working on this for a while, and I have to say, I'm immensely proud of it. This just popped up in my brain a while ago, now please, enjoy~ :D**

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><p>Germany's arms were crossed across his hunched knees as he absentmindedly watched the crackling fire. The small Italian - Feliciano - sitting next to him was enthusiastically talking to his brother Lovino about various foods, whereas Lovino was nodding absentmindedly as his eyelids started to flutter.<p>

When Germany glanced at the man next to him, he couldn't help chuckling a little bit - Antonio had somehow gotten Romano to lean his head on his shoulder, gently stroking his hair and looking occasionally at Feli, sometimes offering a word or two to his culinary rambling.

Suddenly, the more alert Italian bolted up in his seat, golden-brown eyes flickering in the firelight as his eyes widened with what Germany knew had to be another one of his ideas.

"Germany! Oh, Germanygermanygermany! We should tell stories, ve!" he yelled excitedly, clapping his hands together and bouncing slightly in his camp chair. "It could be any kind of stories really, just not ghost stories or anything like that, because they scare me, and I don't like being scared because then you have to save me, and -"

"VENEZIANO. WILL YOU SHUT UP, DAMMIT." Romano had lifted his head slightly from its position on Spain's shoulder and was half-heartedly glaring at his younger brother.

Antonio tsked. "Ah, Romano, don't say that to your brother."

"Make me, stupid bastard!"

"It's just not nice to say, eh?"

"So what!"

Ludwig rolled his eyes as the two got into an argument (or, rather, Romano was being assertive and Spain was sort of stating his opinion and hoping not to get steamrolled). "Ja, Italy, I think that might be a good idea."

"Ve!" he said, jumping again. "Grazie, Germany! Oh, what kind of stories should we do? Hmmmm..." His bright eyes wandered around him, no doubt looking for inspiration for the story he was going to tell.

Suddenly, they settled on Spain and Romano.

He beamed. "Okay, I got one!"

And without further ado, Feli started his story.

"Once upon a time, there were two tomatoes, and one tomato was always yelling and being angry - " Romano spluttered " - while the other tomato was always so nice and silly! But the angry tomato was nice sometimes too, ve. He just didn't like to show it to anyone! So one day, the tomatoes were cooking at the silly tomato's house, and they were making paella!"

Spain chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand. Romano elbowed him, glaring at him darkly, teeth bared.

"And suddenly, the silly tomato said, 'Te amo, Lovi - I mean angry tomato!' And he scooped him up in his arms -"

"WHAT THE HELL? TOMATOES DON'T HAVE ARMS!" Romano was standing now, pointing at his younger brother, blushing darkly and looking anywhere but at Spain. "AND TOMATOES DON'T TALK, AND THEY DON'T HAVE PERSONALITIES! AND THEY CAN NOT COOK PAELLA!"

"Oh, that's right!" Feli replied. "They like to make pasta!"

Romano nearly popped a vein.

"CHIGIIII! Look, fratello, you made your point! I know it's about me and Spain, damn it all!"

Feli's eyes glinted mischievously; he grinned broadly. "This is a work of fiction! Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously! Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental!"

While Germany remained floored that Italy had actually memorized something that was not a recipe, Romano screeched "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!" with his hands over his ears.

Suddenly, Spain slipped a hand up his arm and pulled the flustered Italian into his lap, smiling cheekily. "Exactly, Romano, it's fiction! No need to worry, right?"

If Lovino could have blushed harder he would have, but Germany decided that he was now physically incapable of going any redder without having a nosebleed.

"Now, let's see, where was I..." Feli asked, face looking pensive for once. "Oh well, time to tell a new story! Okay, so once upon a time there was an onigiri and a burger!"

Romano buried his face in his hands.

"And the onigiri reeeeeally liked the burger, and the burger liked the onigiri too! But neither of them wanted to admit it because they were silly! Oh, and the onigiri had dark brown eyes and slick black hair," he said, using his fingers to draw on himself to illustrate. "And the burger had one chunk of hair that wouldn't sit down!"

The rest of the evening went something like this, with Feliciano telling stories using various foods to illustrate: tomatoes and tomatoes, onigiri and burgers, a bottle of maple syrup and a glass of wine, su b rei and a cat (food?), a bottle of vodka and a bowl of fried rice, Zurek and Baraiai, and even a bottle of Prussian beer who secretly wanted to become Swiss chocolate-y. He threw in a piano and a frying pan, leaving poor Germany to wonder how that even happened.

Romano continued to hide his face as the stories went on (seeing as some of them were too explicit for words and the two tomatoes from the first story kept making random appearances). Spain was laughing, glancing at Romano every now and then and patting his back. Germany continued to shake his head.

That is, until Feli reached his final story.

"Once upon a time, there was a bowl of pasta," he started. Romano groaned and curled into a ball; Spain held him just a little closer and kissed his head.

"And this bowl of pasta, he had lots of friends that he loved a lot. He knew an onigiri, a burger, a piano, a frying pan that loved him a lot, a tomato that loved giving him churros, and he loved his brother the other tomato, but he was really lonely.

"Until, one day, he met a potato."

Germany's eyes widened.

"A potato that was big and strong and a little scary at first to him! He didn't know what to say! But slowly, the pasta started to feel more comfortable around the potato."

This story had more feeling and emotion in it than the others did, which was saying something, especially considering that the story was about two pieces of food. Ludwig nervously looked at the floor; he then took a chance and glanced up at Italy.

Italy was looking straight at him, all traces of mischievousness erased from his fine, sunkissed features.

"Suddenly, the pasta found that he was falling in love with the potato. He couldn't really help it, ve. The potato was always so nice to him and protected him when the glass of wine tried to do weird things to him, and he always hugged him and let him sleep in his bed whenever he had scary nightmares!

"He was really strict, though. And it made the pasta love him so much more! Because sometimes whenever the pasta was really tired or he felt like doing something else, the potato would bend the rules for him!"

An unwelcome blush rose to his cheeks. Italy tilted his head to the side.

"But the pasta was kinda scared. He didn't know how to tell the potato how he felt. What if the potato didn't like him back? Would they stop being friends?" A slight tremor had taken Feli's voice at that last sentence.

He didn't know what made him do it. Maybe it was the fact that cheerful Italy's voice was breaking, or maybe the fumes from the mosquito repellent Japan had insisted they take was getting to him. All Germany knew was that the next second, a small "no" had escaped his lips.

Italy perked up, brow furrowed slightly at Germany in a questioning look. Suddenly, he had switched over to his native language: "Che significa, Germania?"

What does that mean, Germany?

Now what was he going to say to that?

"It means... don't you know that the potato didn't have any friends at all?" Germany replied, going a little redder. "How could he just forget about the... pasta... after he had finally made a friend of his own? And have you ever thought the potato might love him back?"

This earned him a tired though still rather angry glare from Romano. Ludwig put his hands up defensively.

"Remember, this is only fiction, Romano. I'm just musing."

"You better be," he mumbled. "Or you will eat LEAD, potato bastard..." He yawned and nuzzled closer to Spain, then realized what he was doing and tried to pull away. However, Spain had already hugged him tighter, and as far as Antonio was concerned, his little Lovi wasn't going anywhere.

"Anyway. So the pasta really loved the potato and he wasn't sure what to do! He asked his brother the tomato what he should do, but his brother didn't really like the potato -"

"DAMN STRAIGHT!"

"- and so that didn't really help him at all," Feli went on, unfazed by his brother's lack of respect. "He asked a lot of people what to do, but the wine's suggestion was kinda creepy and the Swiss chocolate just threatened to shoot him.

"Finally, he asked the Prussian beer what he should do. And you know what he said? He told the pasta that the best thing he could do was be awesome! Which the pasta took to mean was just to be himself, and he decided that was the best idea!

"He still hasn't told the potato how he feels about it. But he takes comfort in the fact knowing that nothing is impossible at all, if he just tries hard enough!"

Feli sat back in his chair, smiling again, content with his story and how it had ended.

Silence pervaded the circle of friends.

Antonio had a small smirk on his face, part understanding for little Ita-chan and part victorious as he had roped Lovi into hugging him.

Romano's blush was just starting to fade; his eyebrows were knitted together in the usual frustration, but the rest of him was very, very relaxed, his arms lazily looped around Spain's shoulders.

Feli was staring tiredly into the fire, knees pulled up to his chest and arms laying across them. Germany couldn't lie: The way the dying firelight flickered in his half-open golden eyes was simply entrancing.

Did Germany know what to do?

Absolutely not.

Italy loved him. He had to start there. Not just like a friend. As something more. There was no hesitation, no doubt in Germany's mind that he loved the Italian back; finally, he had a name to put to the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach when Feli laughed or smiled at him.

But what was he supposed to do now? He didn't fully know. All he knew was that something needed to happen; no doubt there was doubt growing in Italy's mind about whether he had done the right thing.

Suddenly, Antonio stood up, having swooped Lovino up bridal-style. Over Romano's spluttering he said "Ah, look, you left your shoes in the tent, Lovi~! I guess I'll just have to take you with me!" Casting a glance and a wink at Germany, Spain swiftly sneaked inside the tent with the protesting Romano cradled in his arms.

An incredibly awkward silence followed this. The two kept casting nervous looks at the other, a rarity for Italy who was almost never awkward. The only thing that could be heard was the crackling of the fire; even this died down as the minutes passed away in absolute quiet.

Oddly enough, the one to break the silence was Germany.

"The tomatoes were fictional. But I get the strange idea that the pasta wasn't 'from the author's imagination' at all... was it, Italy?"

The small Italian fidgeted in his camp chair, uncertainty prominent on his face. He whispered something.

"Eh?"

"I s-said I don't know what you're talking about~!"

Germany rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something else. He was stopped when the following explosion came from Italy:

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say it at all, it all just slipped out! I - I don't know what I did! I just thought you should know! Please don't hate me, please! I'll take it all back! I'll -"

"ITALIEN!"

"H-Huh?"

"...shut up. Please," he added to make it more polite.

Italy paused, then nodded quietly, brushing the back of his hand across his eyes once. Germany, taking notice of this, indicated Italy sit down next to him; he did so without hesitation. Gently, Ludwig reached over and brushed the tears off of Feli's face.

"I could never hate you. It's impossible for me to do so now, after having known you this long and after everything we've done together, ja?"

He nodded.

"Italien, you're... a lot of things. Hateable isn't really one of them. You make yourself available to help even if you have a hard time helping in any way other than in the kitchen. You're so happy all the time it's hard not to get a slight buzz off your smile. You're annoying as hell -" Feli looked confused here "- but I'd be kind of worried if you were any other way. You're useless on the battlefield and with books and sometimes I want to strangle you and Gottverdammt, Italien, ich liebe dich."

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><p><strong>Well, I didn't know how to end this one. It's been here for a while and finally, I just decided to leave it the way it is now. :3<strong>

**Tell me how I did!**


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